


Deling

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Parent/Child Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4423829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil shares his lover with his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deling

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Bard is spit-roasted between the elves” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=22197739#t22197739).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He finishes his glass of wine before it’s over, but that’s to be expected. His lovers are young, while he’s hardly new to this game, and his stamina has become one of legend. He _could_ finish early if he liked, and perhaps if he were alone, he would wish to see Bard covered in that release. But tonight, he has another elf to do that for him. Legolas has much of his father’s strength, but from the way he sweats and moans, it’s clear he hasn’t mastered the same _control_. His posture is ruined, body slumped over, fingers clawed in Bard’s flesh. His bare hips pound rapidly into Bard’s rear, thrusting Bard’s entire naked body forward into Thranduil’s lap with each go. Bard, his elbows in the mattress to either side of Thranduil’s thighs, does his best to keep up, but it’s clear that much of his effort goes into simply not choking. Thranduil’s girth and length are as revered as his skill, and it took much practice for Bard to be able to swallow him so deeply. 

Swirling the last little puddle around its keep, Thranduil lets the remnants past his lips. He enjoys the cool slide of it down his throat, and he licks his mouth clean after, just to be sure he’s captured it all. He can feel his son’s eyes flickering up to him. He pays little notice, instead reaching sideways to the nightstand. He keeps one hand in Bard’s hair to hold Bard steady, the other setting down the empty glass. Then he settles into place again amidst his open robes, fallen about him like a silken nest atop his royal bed. The headboard is solid against his back, occasionally clacking against the wall with the ricocheted force of Legolas’ thrusts. Legolas and Bard wear nothing, their clothes long since removed. They may be a prince and a master, but Thranduil is a _king_ , and he carries his title everywhere. 

There are times when Bard fights him, treats him like an equal, gives him little kisses and murmurs to him like children with a crush. Tonight, Bard worships him, sucks and hums around his mammoth cock, whenever Legolas allows it. Most of Bard’s movements are bobbing up and down, guided by the pace Legolas sets. Legolas is relentless. He takes Bard fast, hard, as though he’s been waiting for this for a long while and unsure if he’ll ever have it again. Perhaps he won’t. Bard is Thranduil’s lover first, and both are subject to his whims. Yet he can’t deny he enjoys the arrangement. When Legolas first suggested a new idea for more ‘bonding time’ between them, this isn’t at all what Thranduil had thought, but now that it’s in motion, he has no complaints. He enjoys Bard’s eager mouth, probing tongue and tight throat, and he enjoys the sight of his son, magnificent as always, strong and taut and so very like the man that made him. The only difference is that while Thranduil lounges back, luxuriating in his pleasure, Legolas _takes_ it, driving forward with a near growl on his lips and a flush across his fair features. He wears tight braids as usual, keeping his hair back from his face, but it’s only half down his spine, the rest slicked around his shoulders. His blue eyes are dilated and hazy, his mouth parted where his breath rips through. He’s learned to withstand the pressure of the battlefield, but not, it seems, the pleasures of the bedroom. He’ll need more grooming yet.

Bard needs nothing but a good, hard cock buried deep inside him. He’s too old by human standards to be molded anew, too young by Elven standards to be tasked with much. But he does well on his own. He’s learned what Thranduil likes, and he does his best to deliver, even as he writhes from the delight of Legolas’ thrusts. He looks just as handsome, albeit in a different way: rough and scraggly, with sun-kissed skin and matted hair, caurse stubble along his jaw that scrapes tantalizingly against Thranduil’s thighs. Bard lasts impressively long for a mortal, but they’ve ridden him hard for nearly an hour, and Thranduil can see the impending tremours in his face. 

He comes with a cry, muffled but felt, snaking up Thranduil’s spine with a delicious shiver. Bard’s eyes slam closed, his body tensing, throat stilling but still hot and wet around his mouthful. Then his hips canter back onto Legolas’ cock, and Thranduil watches Legolas reach below Bard’s waist, petting him and pumping him; Thranduil can hear the lewd sounds. Even if he couldn’t, he knows the look of his lover’s face in bliss. He reaches down to fondly pet Bard’s hair while Bard shivers through his release, until he’s slumped and sticky and breathing too hard. 

Legolas doesn’t look too far behind. He pulls his hand back, drenched in Bard’s seed, and for a moment, Thranduil wonders if Legolas will taste it, too curious as he’s always been. Instead, Legolas merely smears it along Bard’s back, wiping his hand clean on Bard’s smooth skin. Thranduil allows Bard a few minutes of lying slack, simply warming Thranduil’s cock, but Legolas returns to harsh thrusts and raunchy slapping noises, punctuated by little gasps, ever higher-pitched.

Just before Legolas follows, Thranduil bids, “Wait.” Legolas stills instantly, but with difficulty; his hips visibly tremble. He looks to his father, lust-clouded, and Thranduil leisurely explains, “If Bard is to finish his task with me, he will need the nutrition and aphrodisiac your seed can offer.” Legolas blushes hotly but nods. He hasn’t met as many other creatures as Thranduil has, and he often forgets the power of elves. Fortunately, Thranduil could never forget, feeding Bard the extra enhancement so often as he does.

Legolas hisses as he pulls out, but he moves quickly, slinking to all fours and crawling along the mattress, feral and eyeing them both. Bard simply collapses where he is, though he pulls off Thranduil’s cock, only to nestle back against it, letting it throb along the side of his face. Legolas moves as close as he can, reaching to hold his shaft, but Bard beats him to it. Bard’s labour-calloused fingers wrap around him and set to pump him, stroking him quick and rhythmically and slick with the leftover lubrication. Legolas shudders, surrendering to it, one hand on Bard’s shoulder and the other Thranduil’s thigh. Thranduil simply watches, enjoying the show. It takes shamefully little time for Legolas to burst, crying out and thrusting forward. Bard keeps it pointed at his face, closes his eyes just in time, and opens his mouth. A great deal lands there, but several stray globs paint the rest of his face—cling to his lips and nose and cheeks, tangled in his stubble, a few beads dotting Thranduil’s crotch. Bard waits until he’s milked out every last drop before swallowing. As Legolas settles back, slumping down again, Bard licks his lips and scoops what he can off his face, before turning to drag his tongue flat across Thranduil’s crotch. He laps up everything and then some, swallowing again and again. The effect is noticeable. His pupils blow impossibly wider, his cheeks heating, his lashes heavy and his mouth constantly open, panting and moaning and whimpering, his body subtly shifting, restless, glistening in sweat. It isn’t until Thranduil tugs at his hair that he lifts off his prize. 

As Bard sits up, Legolas lies back, curling against the headboard and daring to rest his cheek on his father’s shoulder. Thranduil makes no note of it, focusing, instead, on settling Bard into his lap. Bard straddles him, holds onto his shoulders, looks down at him, and hesitates. Perhaps he doesn’t know if Thranduil would enjoy the taste of his son. Thranduil’s always enjoyed a great many things he shouldn’t, and in the privacy of his chambers, he holds no shame for that. 

He kisses Bard, and Bard settles onto him, setting to ride him while Legolas lazily watches, sighing happily, “You are good to us, Ada.”


End file.
